Love's Captive
by WillowDryad
Summary: All Narnia has gathered for the wedding of the High King, but the course of true love never did run smooth. A Peter and Linnet Story. Golden Age.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.**

LOVE'S CAPTIVE

Part One

Peter stood before the framed mirror that stood in the corner of his room. It was a good ten feet tall and five feet wide. If Oreius, his Centaur General, had been the sort to stand and admire himself, he could have had an uninterrupted view from the pointed tips of his ears to the end of his shining black tail and with room to spare.

The reflection Peter saw there now was nowhere near as impressive. Hardly magnificent, no matter his royal title. Of course he was dressed in as grand a style as a dozen Mouse tailors, five nimble-fingered Raccoons, an ancient Dwarf bootmaker, three overly nervous Faun valets and two very finicky sisters could arrange. Blue for his Northern Sky, gold for his royalty, white for his fealty to Aslan and His Great Father, the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. His crown gleamed as golden as his hair. His eyes were as blue as the clear Christmas Day sky. Everyone who came to Cair Paravel today, from the smallest Mouseling to the gentle Buffin Giants, would no doubt think him a fine sight, but all he saw was Peter Pevensie, a boy from Finchley. What would Linnet see?

"What do you wish her to see, My Son?"

Peter caught his breath, for the first time noticing the majestic Lion standing just behind him, golden eyes penetrating. Peter turned to face Him and then made a deep bow.

"Forgive me, Aslan, I didn't see You there."

"You didn't see Me because you were too busy looking at yourself."

Peter's face turned fiery hot, and he ducked his head. "You're right. I'm sorry."

The Lion gave him a gentle nudge, and Peter looked up again. There was only love and warmth in His eyes.

"It is good that you consider well what you are about to do. Marriage, especially of My chosen ones, is not to be entered into lightly. It is love and joy and comfort and delight. It is also sacrifice and submission and death of self. Death, My Son, is pain and sorrow, but it is only when a seed dies that it can grow into what it is made to be."

Peter nodded gravely. He knew all this. It was precisely why that boy from Finchley who peered at him from out of the mirror looked so much like a boiled goose.

"Are you prepared to take such a step, Peter Pevensie?"

"What–" Peter swallowed hard and forced his voice down into a more normal octave. "What do You want me to do, Aslan?"

"I sent the lady to you, My Son. She has a gentle heart, pure and faithful and true, and she loves you. At least, I should say, she loves you as much as she is able."

"But–"

"Just as you love her, Peter. As much as that little bit of knowing and living and caring you have yet shared will allow. You think now that it is more than your heart can hold, but it is nothing compared to what it will become when you have lived together, when you have learned and grown and strived and grieved and rejoiced together. When you make your pledge before Me and before my Father, the two of you will indeed become one, and yet for all your lives you will be becoming one. If you continue to lay down your self for her and she for you, if you both seek Me anew every morning, if you make a vow to never let the sun go down upon your anger even if it means talking and listening until the sun rises once more, this tiny seed of love you now bear will grow into a rare and lovely tree, fruitful and sustaining for all your lives. Knowing all this, are you prepared, My Son, to begin this journey? Will you accept this gift I have brought to you in her?"

"What if–" Peter swallowed again. "What if I can't do it? What if I do everything wrong and make her sorry she married me?"

"You will," Aslan said, and there was a touch of humor in His golden eyes. "And she will, but only from time to time. You cannot be perfect, Beloved. Nor can she. But you can each of you cherish the other and give grace and forgiveness as often as it may be needed, and when you feel you have none to give, seek Me and I will supply you with My own. Are you prepared to do this, Peter? In humility and submission and thankfulness, will you take this gift I have brought to you? And give in yourself the gift I have brought to her?"

Peter couldn't speak for the tightness in his throat. He merely lowered his head in assent. Then he felt the touch of the Lion's kiss on his forehead.

"Be blessed, My High King, and know that I see the love and faithfulness you carry in your heart, for me and for your soon-to-be Queen. Be blessed and do not fear, for in whatever comes, I am with you both."

Tears stinging his eyes, Peter dropped to his knees before the Great Lion and clasped his arms around His neck, burying his face in the fragrant mane. "Help me, Aslan. Help me to love her the way You love her. Help me."

"Peter," Aslan purred, "do you remember when you first came to Narnia? When I showed you Cair Paravel yet far off and told you you would be High King? Did it seem like a hard thing? Like a thing that could not truly be?"

"Impossible," Peter admitted.

"And has it been easy for you, the keeping of My land and My people?"

"No, Aslan." Peter ducked his head again, hoping he did not sound ungrateful, because there was noplace he loved more than sweet Narnia. "Not always. And I've made so many mistakes."

"And yet you have done what I have asked of you. You have given yourself for your kingdom, even when you were at the end of your strength and had no more to give. You have loved her and served her and stood her champion all this while. Do this same for your Queen, My Son, and she will in turn uphold you in reigning over my Narnia. Do this, and you will find blessing all the days of your life."

Peter nodded, unable to speak his thanks. Surely the Lion knew.

"It is time, Peter," Aslan said, the words a low rumble in His chest. "Your brother is at the door, and it is time you claimed your bride."

Peter stood, and there was a sudden rapid knocking.

"Peter, you great lummox!" Edmund called, pretending as if he were greatly put out. "Are you coming down or not? Or should I cancel the wedding and send Linnet back to Archenland?"

"No, wait!" Peter said, hurrying to the door. "I'm coming! Aslan–"

When he turned back, the Great Lion was gone. Still, Aslan had been beside him when he had learned to be King. He would be there now, with him and Linnet, as they learned to truly love each other as husband and wife.

"Come on," Edmund called, knocking again. "Or do you want me to tell Linnet you've decided to go fishing instead?"

"You wouldn't dare!"

Peter flung open the door and found his brother lounging against the wall, impeccable in a doublet of dark blue velvet with silver trim that perfectly complemented his silver crown.

"I would dare," he said with a sardonic grin, "but she's just as twitterpated as you are, and likely wouldn't believe me. Now, are you ready or aren't you?"

Peter drew a deep breath, set his crown more firmly atop his head and then nodded. "It's time."

 **Author's Note: At long last, here is the story of Peter's wedding. If you're reading Traitor's Game, this is sort of a companion piece, since the wedding takes place in the middle of that story. But that's Edmund's story, and this is Peter's, so I figured it should be separate. Brownie points for anyone who knows where I got the title. More to come!**

– **WD**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.**

LOVE'S CAPTIVE

Part Two

"Go on and kiss her, you great lummox."

The great hall was filled with laughter at the Just King's urging, and Peter, feeling his face turn hot, looked toward his bride. If his own wedding clothes were magnificent, hers were positively glorious. Her gown was white, but somehow ethereal, the Dryad- woven substance clinging to her slender form until it spread out at the bottom into a cascade of silk and lace that stretched twelve yards behind her, delicately borne by a dozen white Doves, each wearing a tiny wreath of ribbons and pink roses. The bridal veil was twelve yards of lace down the back, daintily tatted by the most skillful of the Raccoons, and fell from Linnet's rose-crowned head to her silk slippers in the front.

Not wanting to be urged again, Peter took delicate hold of the veil and lifted it and then let it tumble back, revealing for the very first time the lovely, tear-bright eyes of his wife. His wife.

"Linnet," he whispered, only just loud enough for her to hear, and then he took both of her hands in his.

Her long lashes fluttered to her cheeks as he leaned down to touch his lips to hers. Then, because that wasn't nearly enough and because Edmund had told him he dared not do it, he grinned and pulled her to him, kissing her lips more thoroughly this time. That made her giggle and fling her arms around his neck as the entire great hall erupted in laughter and applause.

"Their Majesties, King Peter the Magnificent and his Queen Consort, Lady Linnet of Stormness and Empress of the Lone Islands," Edmund announced as Peter escorted her through the crowd of well wishers and to the foot of the stair that led to her chambers. There he bowed and kissed her hand and gave her into the keeping of the Dryads and Tabby Cats and Robins who were her handmaids in order for them to remove her veils and train so she could dance.

Before he could do more than wonder how soon she would return, he was being smothered in kisses and hugs by his two beaming sisters as his brother made snide remarks about his tongue-tied stumbling over his vows. Peter didn't care. Before Aslan and His Great Father, The Emperor-beyond-the-Sea, he and Linnet were married. He had a wife. A Queen. When would she be back?

"She hasn't been gone five minutes, you great numpty," Edmund said, and Peter scowled at him. Why did he always have to know exactly what he was thinking?

Lucy laughed and kissed his cheek again. Despite Susan's insistence that neither of them should dress richly enough to outshine the bride, she couldn't possibly look anything but lovely in a gown of shell pink, fresh as a sunny morning in Fairdawn, even if it was Yule. And Susan beside her was regal and elegant in velvet the color of the claret made by the Fauns from the grape arbors south of Dancing Lawn and laced with gold and pearl.

She took Peter's arm. "While you're waiting, you ought to go speak to the ambassador from Calormen. He insists on bringing you a message from the Tisroc."

"May he drown in flatteries forever," Edmund intoned dutifully.

Susan huffed at him and then turned back to Peter. "No, I suppose you ought to wait until Linnet is with you. It wouldn't be a proper reception without her. Edmund, you go. You're good at this sort of thing."

Edmund made a face. "No, thank you very much. I've just got back from Tashbaan, if you remember, and I'd as soon not be flattered and toadied to and told what the poets have and have not said for at least a month."

"I'll go," Lucy volunteered sunnily.

"Oh, grand," Edmund said. "You'll only talk to him about Aslan and how he'd like Him if he'd ever take the trouble to actually meet Him."

"Well, he would."

"Of course he would," Peter soothed. "But for now–"

He broke off when a pair of slender arms went around him from behind. "For now, My King?"

He turned to see Linnet smiling up at him. "For now, My Queen, would you care to be presented our subjects? And, I'm sorry to say, a few disagreeable visitors who, I'm thankful to say, are not our subjects?"

She took his arm and he led her back to the great hall. Edmund escorted Susan and Lucy behind them. Again there was applause as the bride and groom appeared, and then there was a hush. Somewhere from behind the crowd, there was the quiet patter of a drum and then another, and then the soft low trill of pipes. Everyone backed toward the walls as Peter led Linnet into the middle of the floor and then turned her to face him. His left hand holding her right, his right hand at her slim waist, he waited a moment, listening. Then, from the Eastern Door that had been opened to the cold starlit night, came the start of a song. First it was from the Moonbirds Edmund had brought as a gift to Linnet, glorious and almost otherworldly, and soon they were joined by the song of the sea.

He closed his eyes, pulling Linnet close as they began to dance. The Merfolk had sung for him and his brother and sisters those many years ago when Aslan had made them Kings and Queens of Narnia. This was like and yet unlike that, as a rosebud is like and unlike a rose. This was quieter, dreamier, and yet somehow richer and wilder, deep like a strong ocean current, rushing like the beat of his heart. He and Linnet were now one, as Aslan had said, and would all the rest of their lives be becoming one. A glory and a mystery only He understood.

Soon the music ended and they stood there not moving, not taking their eyes from one another, neither of them seeming able to catch a breath. Then the Eastern Door was shut against the chill of the night, and the music began again, this more fanciful and lighthearted, a collaboration between the Fauns and the Dryads and an exaltation of Larks. All of the guests began to dance, and soon the great hall was once more filled with the sounds of merriment.

After Peter had another dance with his bride, Susan insisted it would be impolite to keep everyone waiting, and soon the bride and groom as well as his brother and sisters were lined up to receive the congratulations and well wishes of one and all. But surely, Peter thought what seemed many hours later, he had spoken to everyone in the great hall at least twice by now. He wanted more than anything to thank them all at once and then bid them goodnight. Instead, he listened with at least a convincing amount of attention as a slow-spoken old Bruin lectured him on the proper upbringing of Cubs. Well, if he didn't get away from here before he died, there weren't going to be any royal Cubs.

He had been King for more than ten years. In that time, he had learned much about patience and self-discipline and honor and sacrifice. Sometimes though, especially now when the hour was growing later and his bride stood beside him, breathtaking and tantalizing and smiling and oh-so-subtly tugging at his hand, it did chafe.

Finally, Edmund came up to him, standing at his other side, smiling regally on the swirling crowd.

"Why are you two still here?" he asked, barely moving his lips.

Peter kept his own smile fixed, looking on the endless line of his adoring subjects waiting to speak to him personally. "Kill me, Ed. Just kill me."

No doubt Edmund recognized his incredibly polite "I'm about to go mad" smile.

"Patience," Edmund murmured, and Peter could see he was struggling not to smirk. "It's not even midnight yet."

"Yes, I know." Peter sighed. "But which midnight? I swear at least ten days have passed since this party started."

"Just go." Edmund smiled and made a slight bow to the Calormene ambassador and his entourage who were making their way towards them. "I can see to this one for you."

"You're a brick, Ed. I owe you."

"Of course you do. Now go."

"Oh, most excellent and exalted High King of Narnia," the ambassador began, his face florid and his piggish eyes shining with what he would have likely termed delight to be in such exalted presence, but which Peter was sure was more likely due to an excess of wine. "The favor of Tash be upon you and your radiant bride, for have not the poets said . . ."

Peter listened as the man droned on, silently thanked Edmund for his determined but futile attempts to steer him back to the banquet tables, and was on the verge of being what Susan might actually term rude when the Calormene finally finished and wandered off in the wake of a pair of Dwarfs carrying in a fresh barrel of wine.

"My King."

Peter turned to see his Centaur General bowing before him, a dainty Centaur Mare on his arm.

"Oreius." Peter clasped his hand, feeling a sudden welling up of emotion. Oreius had been a father to him and his brother and sisters since they had come to Narnia, and there was no one besides Aslan whose approval Peter wanted more.

"The Lion bless you both, Majesty," the Centaur said, his grip strong, "as I know He already has." Once more he bowed, this time to Linnet. "My Queen."

Peter kissed the Centauress's hand. "Lady Demeter. I'm glad you stayed for the wedding. It is all our hope that you will be with us a long time yet."

She bowed her head, making no promises, and then she bowed to Linnet. "May you have joy, My Queen."

Linnet took both of her hands, squeezing them. "And you." She glanced at Oreius and then back at Demeter, the light in her eyes growing brighter. "Both of you."

Oreius cleared his throat and then, with the most formal of bows, led Demeter away.

Linnet giggled. "I daresay it won't be long before we are at their wedding."

Peter put a finger to his lips, but he winked at her, too, and then he felt a shy little tug at the buckle on his boot.

"Poppy." He went down on one knee as the big-eyed Bunny blinked up at him, offering him a single yellow tulip.

"We had a whole bunch," she said in her tiny little voice, "but I think we ate them."

He smiled at the handsome Buck beside her and their nine babies. "Of course you did," he told her. "If they were anything like this one, how could you possibly resist?"

She batted her long lashes at him, and then stood up as tall as she could. He leaned down and touched his lips to her quivering nose.

"You and Foxglove must come to Cair Paravel more often now that your little ones are growing up."

One of the little Bunnies started to whimper, and Poppy shushed it and began herding them all away. "When it's not past our bedtime," she promised Peter, and with another bat of her lashes, she and her family were gone.

"I think I should be jealous," Linnet said when he stood again, a twinkle in her eye, "but right now I'm just thinking you have far too many subjects."

He laughed ruefully and kissed her cheek, and then he groaned half under his breath to see a solemn assembly of Fauns heading toward them. They were nearly as tedious as the Calormenes sometimes, and he wished Mr. Tumnus wasn't still playing his pipes with the rest of the musicians. He would have at least been jolly to speak to.

Peter looked pleadingly at Edmund, but to his surprise Edmund only bowed toward Linnet.

"Will you dance with me, My Queen?" he asked. "I think the High King is going to be occupied for a while.

Before she could answer, he whisked her away into the swirling throng. Peter sighed and turned to greet the Fauns. By the time he looked up again, Edmund was dancing with Lucy and then with the mahogany-eyed girl he had brought back from Archenland with Linnet's Moonbirds. Linnet was being led around the floor by Babur, the great Tiger who was one of his personal guards. Peter managed to have a sip or two of wine and a bit of a cherry tart before Sir Elliot Pouncepaws, the stately white-and-tabby-striped cat who led the royal counsel, and his family made their way to him, followed by a profusion of Mice and Squirrels and a few Lambs that Peter hadn't the heart to be brusque with. But it really was getting late, and Linnet–

He looked around the great hall just after he finished talking to an old She-Badger who had made him a gift of a jar of fine honey for his tea, but he didn't see Linnet anywhere now. And Edmund– No, there was Edmund, weaving through the crowd with a grim look on his face. Peter didn't like that look.

He excused himself to the Coyote congratulating him, and hurried to his brother's side. "What's going on? Where's Linnet?"

"I don't know, but one of the Swallows brought me this."

Peter unfolded the note Edmund gave him and then his heart lurched to a stop.

 _Come to the North Tower, alone and unarmed, if you ever wish to see your bride again._

 **Author's Note: Dun-dun-duuuuuuuuuuuuuuun! Well you knew (or should have known) I would have to throw some drama and angst into any happy occasion. I'd love to know what you think of this chapter.**

– **WD**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.**

LOVE'S CAPTIVE

Part Three

 _Come to the North Tower, alone and unarmed, if you ever wish to see your bride again._

Peter crushed the note into his fist, dread and fury racing through his blood like molten lightning. "This is all?"

Edmund gave him a grim nod. "I have all of the guards on alert. Any sign of anything out of order and they'll report it."

"Report it?" Peter spat. "Report it? Linnet's been kidnapped or hurt or– or–" He wouldn't, he couldn't say killed. Not sweet Linnet. Not his Queen. His wife. "Edmund–"

"Keep your voice down," Edmund hissed, though Peter's voice hadn't risen above a whisper. They both knew better than to alarm their subjects before they had all the facts, even the most terrible ones. "I didn't want to do anything that would put her in danger. Until we have more information about where she is and why–"

" _We_ won't do anything," Peter said. "I'm going to go up to the North Tower, just as the note says."

"Peter, you can't possibly–"

Peter nodded to his Tigers and strode out of the room, paying no heed to the questioning glances of the delegation of Eagles who had been waiting to speak to him.

"Peter," Edmund said, coming out after him. "Listen to me."

Peter unstrapped his swordbelt and gave it along with his sword and scabbard into his brother's hands. "If I don't come back, Rhindon is yours. Narnia is yours. The girls–"

He had seen Susan and Lucy in the Great Hall, laughing and dancing. There was no time for goodbyes.

"Peter," Edmund began again, but he was interrupted by the appearance of Bast and Babur.

"What is it, Majesty?" Babur asked, teeth bared and green eyes narrowed, watching as Peter removed the dagger from his boot and another from the sheath strapped to his forearm. Those, too, were put into Edmund's hands.

"Why have you disarmed yourself?" Bast asked, as wary as her brother.

"Both of you come with me," Peter said after he had read them the note. "Edmund, I want that tower surrounded. Whatever's up there, if I don't come out alive, you make sure no one else does. Do you understand?"

"All right." Edmund's mouth was a hard line. "You'd better go if you're going to."

Without warning, Peter threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly. "That'll have to do for the three of you," he murmured against the side of Edmund's head.

Edmund returned the embrace. "Aslan never forsakes His own."

"Yes," Peter said, the word coming out stark and unconvincing, and then he and the Tigers turned into the corridor that led to the North Tower.

The North Tower was the farthest from the Great Hall, and this corridor was long and full of windows. But the windows now were dark, the corridor empty. Everyone was celebrating the wedding of the High King and their beautiful new Queen. And Aslan–

Aslan. Peter chewed his lip as he walked, his swift steps echoing in the marble hall. Where was He? _I sent the lady to you, My Son._ Surely He would not let her be taken from him so soon. Surely He had meant, as He had said, for them to spend the years to come loving and caring for each other. Being and becoming one. Where was He?

"Aslan," he murmured, not caring now if his Tigers overheard. "Aslan, please."

He didn't say more. There was more than he could put into words. _Please don't let anything happen to Linnet. Please don't let her be too afraid. Don't let her think I'm not coming for her. Give us both courage._ She had been through so much since she had come to Narnia, it didn't seem right that on this of all nights she should find terror and despair rather than the love and joy they had both been expecting. And if freeing her cost him his life . . . ?

He frowned and quickened his step, his Tigers' great paws padding silently after him. He was ready to face whatever awaited him at the top of the tower. He had never been one to turn back, though with every step he wished more and more for the familiar assurance of Rhindon in his hand. Still, he thanked Aslan for Oreius' strict training. There were many ways to eliminate a threat that required no weapon at all. And if he were to fall, so long as Linnet was freed and unharmed, that was an exchange he would happily make.

What had Aslan said about the love he had for her? _You think now that it is more than your heart can hold, but it is nothing compared to what it will become when you have lived together, when you have learned and grown and strived and grieved and rejoiced together._ He knew the Great Lion was wise, much wiser than any boy from Finchley could hope to be, but he did not know how he could possibly love Linnet more than he did already, when his heart was near bursting with love and fear.

They were at the North Tower now, at the door of thick oak, bound with iron, fitted with a great lock. What would he find at the top? _Aslan, where are you?_

"You both stay here," he told the Tigers. "Edmund will have the rest of the guard surrounding the base of the tower. You are under no circumstances to come up."

Bast and Babur both bowed their great heads, growling softly as they did. He gave them a half smile and a grateful nod. There was no time for goodbyes.

He opened the door and shut it behind himself. There was nothing before him but the winding stairway that led to the top. It was dimly lit, only one of every three or four of the torches actually aflame, and as he began his ascent, he again wished for his sword. What was awaiting him there?

"Let her be all right," he breathed as he passed the door to the next level and continued upward, taking the steps faster and faster. "Aslan, in your mercy, watch over us both."

How many times had he climbed these steps? Training, punishment, whatever Oreius chose to call it, often involved running the points of the compass. West Tower, South Tower, East Tower . . . North Tower. But even then his heart had not pounded as it was pounding now. Aslan never forsakes His own. Aslan never forsakes His own.

He passed another door and then another and another. They came quickly now. Another still. What awaited him at the top? He glanced down and then looked up again, bracing one hand against the wall as he caught his breath. Foolish. He had learned long ago never to look down into the swirl of steps below him once he had run this far. He swallowed hard and began to run again. Another door and another. One more now. He could see it. The final door. He had come alone and unarmed. Would he see his bride again?

"Aslan." His heart knocked against his ribs, but he would not fear. This was the adventure the Great Lion had set before him. "Aslan," he said again, "I put myself into Your paws."

He clenched his right hand into a fist. With his left, he flung open the door and then froze.

The room was only softly lit. There was a single candle on the table beside the bed. The rest was only the glow of hearth light. The bed itself was draped in white linen, piled high with downy comforters and feather bedding, and everywhere were bowers of white roses. Roses in winter? Even for enchanted Narnia, it was a wonder. What was this? What–?

"Peter."

"Linnet."

She was there. Alive. Whole. Unharmed.

He ran to her, pulling her into a tight, relieved embrace. "You're all right." He kissed her again and again and again, shaken with sudden relief. "What were you trying to do? Make yourself a widow before you were even a proper wife?"

She put one soft hand up to his cheek, eyes filled with equal parts sympathy and humor. "Your sisters arranged to have this place readied for us, but it was all Edmund's idea in the first place. He knew, if your subjects had their way about it, we'd have been congratulated and toasted and wished well until after dawn."

Peter exhaled heavily, smiling at last. "Good old Ed. I'll have to thank him tomorrow. After I kill him."

"Oh, please don't kill him." She twined her arms around Peter's neck, nuzzling kisses against the line of his jaw. "There's no one in all the worlds who loves you more than he does." She touched her lips to his. "Except me."

He laughed softly, returning the sweet kiss and then making it suddenly more. "Linnet," he murmured against her cheek, and then he held her away from himself, just enough so he could look at her standing there, breathtaking and perfect with her hair falling in loose honey-brown curls past her waist and her gown looking as if it were made of silk and moonlight. "My wife. My Queen. Before Aslan and His Great Father, I promise you–"

She pressed one soft finger to his lips, her gray eyes aflame, and then she clung close again, her soft mouth turned up to his. He kissed her with that deep passion he had longed for from the first time he saw her. She answered just as fervently, fingers twined into his hair, lithe body pressed to his, knowing there was at last no need for restraint. She was his, and he was hers, now and always, as Aslan had intended.

He swung her into his arms and blew out the candle.

OOOOO

Once Peter had left him, Edmund spent the rest of the evening playing host to the remaining wedding guests, toasting the royal bride and groom, and dancing with the mahogany-eyed girl he had brought with him from Archenland. And anyone bold enough to try to get past the twin Tigers stationed outside the heavy door at the base of the tower that night would have found the bottom of the winding stairway barred until morning by a fierce-but-smiling Lion.

 _Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori._

Love conquers all things; let us yield to love.

 **Author's Note: And there, Gentle Reader, is the end of the story. Peter and Linnet are well and truly married, and nothing tragic even happened. I'll be getting back to Edmund and Elain's story ( _Traitor's Game_ ) now, if anyone is interested. I'd love to know what you think. Reviews are love.**

– **WD**


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